


Wake The Dead

by orphan_account



Series: Undead!AU [3]
Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: M/M, Zombies, minibang, zombiebang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-23
Updated: 2012-11-23
Packaged: 2017-11-19 08:48:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/571420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>The children just won't stay dead. And neither will the memories.</i> Frank's back from the dead, and he doesn't want anyone to know. His mom packs them off to Italy in hopes of starting a new life, but things are never as easy as you hope they will be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake The Dead

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [zombiebang](http://zombiebang.livejournal.com/) 2012, and you can see an amazing mix [here](http://jokerindisguise.livejournal.com/270817.html), by the amazing [jokerindisguise](http://jokerindisguise.livejournal.com/).
> 
> This is also a prequel to the Undead!Verse, set before the events of [Generation Dead](http://ghoststories-x.livejournal.com/12732.html).

After the initial panic of being trapped inside a confined space, Frank tries to gather his thoughts.

 _Okay_ , he thinks. _Okay. I’m in a box. A small box. A small **padded** box, with limited air supply and--_

Frank holds that thought for a few seconds and just stares into the darkness that surrounds him. He hadn’t realised he wasn’t breathing. Well, until now, that is. Now it’s very apparent, as is the fact that his chest isn’t rising and falling. 

He tries to take a breath, but it doesn’t quite work. He feels like he should be choking, like his lungs should be hurting, burning, but he doesn’t feel _anything_. Nothing at all.

There’s a flash in his brain, newspaper headlines, conversations he’s had, but he does his best to ignore it, because right now he has to figure out where the hell he is.

Frank tries to shift around, but he doesn’t have much space, and since he can’t see a thing, well, there’s not much he can do. He pushes his arms out at his sides, and he’s a little dismayed to find that he’s moving a lot slower than he’d like to be. Nothing hurts, in fact, as with his inability to breathe, Frank can’t actually feel anything. He knows he’s moving, but it’s like he can’t feel it, not really.

Frank tries to roll his head a little, and he finds that there’s a pillow behind his head. He can’t get a hand up to touch it, but he’ll bet a year’s allowance that it’s white silk. He also bets that the suit he’s wearing is the same one he wore to his great grandma’s funeral a year ago.

When Frank manages to get his arms a little higher and press on the top of the box, he’s more than positive that he’s inside a coffin. Now, he should be freaking out about this discovery, because Frank has terrible claustrophobia, but he feels strangely calm -- and that’s what scares him the most. Once, when Frank was seven, he got locked in his grandma’s closet whilst playing hide and seek with his cousins, and he’d screamed the house down. He still has nightmares about it, but he doesn’t like to admit it. So Frank’s quite confused as to why he’s so calm. He really should be worrying about the air supply -- but then again, _he doesn’t seem to be breathing._

Frank just lies there for a few minutes, then a few minutes more. He feels the need to do something, but he’s not entirely sure what. Eventually, he opens his mouth, and he tries to form words, but the noise that comes out shocks Frank so much that he bangs his hands against the roof of the coffin in an attempt to throw them over his mouth.

Frank groans and tries to relax his body. It doesn’t really work because he still can’t feel much of anything. He’s also pretty sure he should be able to talk. He’s sure he could do that before, right?

Frank wiggles his tongue in his mouth, and he’s dismayed that he’s moving a lot slower than he wants to. He’s also a little confused as to why his mouth is so dry.

Then of course, he realises: the dead don’t salivate, do they?

Because he needs to be realistic here. There’s only one scenario he can think of that would explain why he’s just woken up in a coffin, moving extremely slow and unable to talk bar a few strangled sounds.

Frank’s dead. No, actually. Frank is Undead.

-

Frank’s not entirely sure how long he’s been in this coffin, how long he’s been dead to the world. He feels guilty, actually. He could have been down here for weeks and his family and friends don’t even know he’s awake. Trust Frank to be one of the Undead to wake up in their coffin. Oh no, he couldn’t be one of the lucky ones and wake up in the morgue, or at least before they god damn _buried him_. His poor mother is probably--

Frank cuts that thought off as soon as it starts. He really doesn’t want to think about what his mom is probably going through right now. He’d had a fucking _funeral_ , that can’t have been easier for her. Frank’s her only son, and now he’s gone and just left her all on her--

Again, Frank stops himself. It’s hard to stop yourself from thinking about certain things when you don’t have anything to distract yourself. However, the thought of his funeral brings Frank to thinking about something closely related -- his _death_.

He can’t remember dying. All Frank can remember is fighting. Well, as much of a fight as it was, really. He can remember throwing some punches, and someone yelling, but then it’s all just black. 

Frank frowns and tries to shift around a little. There’s some blank spots in his mind, but he knows that this is what comes with the whole Undead thing. He’s listened in on enough of his mother’s Undead Parent’s Association meetings. He’d thought he was just being nosey at the time, but right now he’s quite thankful. He supposes that must be why he’s staying so calm. Well, there’s not much else he can do -- it’s not like he can scream or jump around in a panic. 

Frank just lies there, trying not to think, when it just gets too much. He figures he’s been here for a while, and he really doesn’t think he wants to stay much longer. He may not suffer from claustrophobia as a Zombie, but he knows he’ll go crazy if he’s stuck in here for eternity.

\---

Frank’s a little thankful he doesn’t have the ability to breathe anymore, because as he climbs out of his grave (he fights off a small shiver at the word) he knows he’d be in the middle of an asthma attack right now if he had functioning lungs.

It’s probably been a few hours since Frank started to push on his coffin lid, and he really doesn’t know how he’s managed it, but he’s now lying on his back beside his freshly dug up grave. He kinda wishes he was panting, just for effect, but it just won’t work. However, one thing that does seem to be working is Frank’s ability to move his limbs. Whilst his vocal cords are numb and he might be moving a little slower than normal, his arms and legs are working at least. He knows he’s pretty lucky for that.

As Frank lies on his back staring at the dark sky above him, two thoughts cross his mind. The first is that he should probably be thinking something philosophical and thankful for having the chance to actually see the night sky again. The second is that he needs to write a very long and strong worded complaint to all the makers of his favourite zombie movies, because they all lied their fucking asses off. It is most definitely _not_ as easy to climb out of a grave as they make it look.

After a while, Frank starts to move his limbs around. It would probably look funny, if someone were to see him, waving his arms and legs around, like he was trying to make a snow angel without any snow. He’s quite thankful for how easy he’s finding it to move -- he’s obviously one of the lucky ones. However, it’s for this reason he doesn’t even try to speak -- if he’s got all the luck with body movement, then it’s all got to go wrong somewhere else, right?

Frank looks down at his watch, all dirty and scratched from the dig. He feels like it should be much later, after midnight, but it’s only after ten. He figures his mom should still be awake. 

Then it hits him. Hard. He’s going to see his mom again. He’s going to show up at her door, in a dirty, mud stained _funeral_ suit, probably weeks after she’d just buried him in it.

Things can never just be easy, can they?

-

Frank makes it back to his mom’s house a little slower than he’d usually be. He figures that’s down to the fact that (A) he’s now a zombie, and (B) he kept having to hide whenever he heard someone -- he doesn’t want anyone to see him, not before his mom does. How would that look, old Mrs. Farling across the street calling up to say, “Linda, hi, saw your Frank drooling his way along the street, how’s he doing?”?

When he’s standing on the back porch, Frank tries to take a deep breath, but it doesn’t work. He groans a little, then stops, because it’s too Romero like for him to be comfortable with right now.

With a slow bend, Frank manages to find the spare key that his mom hides under the doormat, and lets himself in quietly. His sneakers make a slight sludging noise, but he’s quiet enough that there’s no movement from the living room, where he can see the television light creeping from.

Frank stands there in the hall for a long time, because he’s not sure what to do. He suddenly feels this wave of emotion for all of the kids he’d heard his mom talking about, all those kids that were too scared to go home -- and all the ones that were chased from their homes, parents too scared and too stupid to be thankful for their children’s return. How is _his_ mom going to react? 

When it gets almost too unbearable, Frank finally starts to take some slow, quiet steps towards the door to the living room. He pauses outside it again, and just as he goes to take one more step, he hears, “Is someone there?”

If his heart was beating, it would have skipped a beat, Frank’s sure. Just hearing his mom’s voice again…he never realised he’d be so happy to hear it.

Frank takes another step and he’s in the doorway.

Linda is on one corner of the sofa, a knitted blanket over her legs. She’s staring at Frank with wide, open eyes. 

She doesn’t scream, which Frank is quite thankful for. He’d imagined something akin to Night of the Living Dead, screaming and clawing, but no, Linda Iero has kept completely silent as she stares at the son she buried not so long ago. 

Frank opens his mouth, and he wants to call to her, he really wants nothing more than to break down in tears and just cry into her arms, but he _can’t_.

“Frank?” Linda croaks after what seems like forever. 

Frank just nods, because he can’t do much more. He hangs his head and just stares at his dirty sneakers. Everything feels wrong. He shouldn’t be here, he should be back in his coffin, resting peacefully. He should be somewhere else, another dimension or something, he shouldn’t be _here_.

Slowly, Frank can see his mother’s shadow approach him, but he doesn’t look up. When his mother’s arms start to wrap around him, Frank lets out a choked sob that startles even himself.

“Shhh,” Linda whispers wetly as Frank collapses against her. “S’okay baby, I’ve got you.”

Frank just nods as they slide to the floor together, and he just leans against her, lets her stroke his dirty hair. She’s crying, full sobs and shaking, and Frank wishes he could too.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Linda whispers after a while, and Frank looks up at her. She smiles at him sadly, and just presses a kiss to his dirty forehead.

-

Linda won’t let Frank walk the stairs on his own, no matter how many times he waves his arms at her. 

“I don’t care,” she says sternly, walking him slowly up each step. “I’m not risking you hurting yourself, not when you’ve just woken up.”

Frank rolls his eyes, but he smiles and lets her march him slowly up to his room. 

He’s a little relieved that everything’s how he remembered it -- part of him was worried she’d already packed it up, but everything is still in place.

“I had a feeling you’d be back,” his mom says, as if she’s reading his mind. “Well…hoped.” She ducks her head and Frank just wants to tell her he loves her, he’ll never leave her again. Instead, he just reaches out and squeezes her hand gently, hoping she’ll get it.

Linda looks up and smiles at him. “Okay!” She says, and she claps her hands together. “Let’s get you out of that old suit, huh?”

Frank’s eyes widen and he nods, because _fuck, yes please_. He really needs a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, like, _now_.

Linda laughs and starts to help Frank pull off his layers of clothing. She lets Frank unbutton his dirty shirt, but as she starts to pull it from his back, she freezes.

Frank frowns and twists his head to look at her, but she’s staring at the top of his back, the bottom of his neck.

He makes a face, but she doesn’t say anything, just keeps staring. Frank makes a noise in his throat, and _fuck_ , he hates this whole back-from-the-dead-thing. He’d really quite like the ability to speak back, thanks.

His mother seems to snap out of her trance and she shakes her head, smiling. “Nothing sweetie, it’s nothing.” She sniffs and pulls his shirt off. “Now you get those slacks off, and I’ll start the shower, okay?”

Frank frowns but nods and does as he’s told. Once he’s thrown his trousers into the pile of dirty clothes, he catches his reflection in the mirror on his dresser. He twists a little, trying to see the back of his neck, and when he does see it, he freezes. 

There’s a little blue and purple bruise, and the skin is barely broken, but he knows what it is. He knows it’s what killed him.

Frank rolls his head on his shoulders and gives a little shudder. He’ll think about that later, right now he just needs a shower, some sweat pants and his mother to cuddle against (and no, he doesn’t really give a shit that he’s fifteen years old and wants to cuddle his mother, because in theory, he shouldn’t be able to do that anymore, so fuck anyone that thinks he’s a pansy).

Frank manages his shower on his own (thank god), and he’s very thankful to find a pair of blue sweatpants and his favourite Bouncing Souls shirt sitting on his bed when he makes his way into his room.

“How long have you been awake?” Linda asks him as he settles against her on the sofa. He really can’t believe he’s here, he’s _dead_ , but he’s here.

Frank shrugs awkwardly and grunts. He lifts a hand and rubs at his throat as though it’ll do any good.

“It can take a little while, baby,” Linda says, and she holds him close and presses a kiss to the top of his head. “Don’t worry, it’ll be okay.”

Frank nods, and he closes his eyes. He knows he’ll never sleep again, but right now he doesn’t care. Right now all he wants is his mom.

\---

Frank growls and falls back on his bed. There’s some stupid salesperson at the door, and they’ve been there forever, refusing to take no for an answer, so Frank can’t leave his room. No one knows he’s back, and he can’t really just expose his existence to some random saleswoman trying to sell his mom this new fancy Tupperware.

He’s been back for four weeks now, and his motor skills are practically perfect, but he’s still a little nervous about everything. He can’t speak for shit, and he really hates the sad look in his mother’s face whenever he gets upset at his inability. She spends most nights with him, trying to get his vocal chords working, trying to teach him to talk, but it’s no use -- he has to learn on his own, and it’s not like he doesn’t know _how to_ talk, it’s just that it won’t _work_ right now.

No one else knows he’s back. The first person Frank’s mother wanted to call was Donna, and Frank almost broke his arm when he fell on the sofa trying to wrestle the phone off of her. No, they couldn’t tell Donna, he couldn’t let…he couldn’t let Gerard see him like this. Fuck, he doesn’t even like _thinking_ about Gerard, never mind seeing him again. Not yet, anyway. He’s been dead for over two months now, and no matter how cool Gerard’s family is with the Differently Biotic kids…well, Frank isn’t ready to let Gerard see him. It hurts too much to think about. Plus, it would be unfair of him to just show up on Gerard’s doorstep, months after the poor kid had _buried_ him. Whilst Frank doesn’t talk to his mom about Gerard, he can see it in her eyes, and he doesn’t need to be told how Gerard reacted, the hell he’s probably going through. If Frank shows up, walking around in his dead body…well, that’s just gonna fuck Gerard up even more, right? They’re only fifteen, and Gerard has his whole life ahead of him. Frank doesn’t -- Frank’s doomed to spend eternity in a fifteen year old body. He can’t expect Gerard to…well. He can’t expect Gerard to want him in his life.

It makes Frank sad though, that his mother doesn’t go to the meetings anymore. When he was alive, he thought it was a little strange, how his mom and Donna held the meetings for the Undead Parent’s Association, since neither of them had undead kids, but now he gets it -- they just wanted to help. And it’s probably good they did, or else Frank’s return could have gone horribly wrong. 

So, Frank’s pretty sure it’s for the best that no one knows for now. He wants to get used to it himself. He spends each night lying in his bed, just staring at the ceiling, thinking, because there’s nothing else he can do. Sometimes he sits outside his mom’s bedroom door, just to hear her breathing, her light snoring. He knows it’s weird, but it helps him pass the hours that he’s alone, and it’s soothing. It’s odd actually, how calming just the sound of his mother’s breathing is, how he’d taken it for granted before. 

One night, Frank’s in a daze, sitting outside of his mom’s bedroom. It’s dark, almost pitch black, and he doesn’t hear the door open, doesn’t even realise his mother is there until she touches his shoulder.

Frank looks up quickly, eyes wide and a little embarrassed at being caught out, but he can see his mom’s soft smile in the dark. She takes his hand and pulls him up, before he takes him into her room. Frank frowns, confused, but climbs into the bed next to her. Linda lets out a sigh and puts her arms around her son, and settles close to him. Frank stays perfectly still for a few minutes, until his mother’s breathing eases out and her light snores start to take over. Then he relaxes, and just holds her hand.

-

“Frank.” Linda says, and Frank looks up from the Flash comic on the table in front of him. He raises his eyebrows, because his mother’s wearing that look on her face that means she’s been thinking about something rather intensely.

“Frank,” his mother repeats again, and Frank makes a noise in his throat. “What would you think…about moving?”

Frank frowns and bites the inside of his cheek lightly. He looks up at her and tries to ask what she’s talking about, but it comes out as a growl.

Linda raises her eyebrows, then sighs. “I just think maybe it would be a nice change of scenery. A nice…a new start.” She purses her lips and closes her eyes, then nods. “Yeah. A new start. I think we need one.”

Frank watches her for a few minutes, before he jerks his head.

“Italy,” Linda says, and Frank’s eyes shoot wide open. “I know it sounds drastic, but…Lita has a little cottage for rent, and you know she would love to see you…” 

Frank looks at his mother skeptically. Does she really think his aunt wants to see him? Like this?

When Linda doesn’t react, Frank whines. She’s already told his aunt he’s back, hasn’t she?

“I’m sorry,” Linda says quickly, and she sits down at the table facing him. “But it’ll be good for you, baby. No one knows us, and we could just…” she reaches over and takes his hand in hers, stroking his cold skin. “We could start a fresh, baby. Just you and me.”

Frank stares at his mother for a few seconds before he rolls his eyes and lets out an unnecessary sigh. Linda grins and leans over the table to press a kiss to his head, before she makes her way into the hall, no doubt to call Frank’s aunt Lita to let her know they’ll be coming.

 

\---

Frank expects the flight to be pretty difficult, but it’s not really. As it turns out, his mom hasn’t been as honest as she said she was -- Frank’s now officially registered as a Differently Biotic Person, and has a nice big green stamp on his passport. He frowns at it when his mom hands it to him, but she just says, “I had to, sweetie. It’s okay, no one else is going to know back home, okay?”

Frank just shrugs and shuffles onto the plane. He tries his best to ignore the looks from other passengers as he makes his way to his seat, and he tugs his baseball cap down as far over his face as possible.

The flight goes smoothly, and Frank just reads his comics for the most part. He didn’t even bother with comics much before he died, but there’s something about them that he feels like he has to hold on to. Something comforting.

“Look, Frankie,” Linda says and Frank tears his eyes away from the colourful page. He looks out of the window, and he can see the bright colours of the Italian countryside below them. “We’re almost there.”

Frank just stares, then gives a small nod. They’re officially not in Jersey anymore.

-

Frank’s first night in Italy isn’t too bad. The electricity and everything runs fine (minus a few sputters when Frank first turns on the shower), and his aunt Lita seems to have given the place a good clean (and even stocked the bathroom with Z products, which made Frank feel a little awkward).

“So,” Linda asks, throwing herself down on the sofa next to Frank. “What d’ya think?” 

Frank looks around the room a little. It’s quite old fashioned, and he’s surprised it even has electricity, but it’s nice. 

Frank nods, and his mom smiles. They’d spent most of the day unpacking what they could bring over on the flight, and the rest of their stuff should be there in a week or so.

Linda doesn’t say anything more, and Frank’s thankful. He just leans against her and closes his eyes, listening to her breathing.

-

Frank falls back against his pillows and stares at the ceiling. His mom’s been asleep for over an hour, and he can’t lie, he’s really jealous. He may not get tired anymore, but he really misses dreaming, misses lying down and closing his eyes. He misses waking up to welcome a new day.

He lets out a useless sigh, and reaches over to grab his laptop from the floor. He may as well watch a movie or something. It’s been a while since Frank used his laptop at all, and when it logs on, the first thing to pop up is his online messenger.

For a terrifying second, Frank just stares at the box, before he sees the _appearing offline_ status near the top. He runs a hand through his hair and finds himself scrolling through his contact list.

All his friends are there, and even a few relatives. Frank bites his bottom lip gently, and freezes when a little box pops up in the corner of the screen.

 _Gerard is now online_.

Frank can’t stop staring at the screen, and eventually he just closes his laptop over. He feels sick. He wishes he could _be_ sick.

Later that night, Frank removes messenger from his laptop altogether.

\---

Frank tries not to think of home. For the first few weeks of his new life (or should that be unlife?) in Italy, he tries to adjust and just forget. His mom seems happy, and he’s grateful for that -- she’s working at his aunt’s hair salon, and she seems to like it there. Frank’s just glad that she has somewhere to be, somewhere to get away. She might never say it out loud, but Frank knows that their life is wearing her down -- he can see the anguish in her eyes every time he tries and fails to produce a word, and he knows she hates it when he gets upset. He doesn’t blame her at all, because it’s taking its toll on him too. So Frank’s glad his mom has somewhere else to be, even if she does go on about how she feels guilty leaving him alone for hours. 

It’s on one of those afternoons alone that Frank has a breakthrough. 

Frank’s in the kitchen. He’s not in the kitchen very much, because he doesn’t have much use for it, being dead and all. However, Frank’s decided that he’s going to make his mom’s dinner for her coming home. It’s something he used to do when they lived back in Jersey, and he wants to do something nice for her. She’s been so patient, trying to teach Frank how to do things again, and now that he’s perfectly capable of pretty much everything, he wants to do something for her.

Frank’s in the middle of reading a page from one of his mother’s cookbooks when he doesn’t notice a bowl a little too close to his elbow. As he turns the page, he sends the bowl flying to the ground where it shatters.

“Shit!” Frank groans, then freezes. His eyes grow wide and he stares own at the smashed bowl.

For a few minutes there’s nothing but silence, and Frank thinks he’d be shaking if he could. He raises a hand and rubs at his throat, rubbing his Adam’s apple softly. He’s filled with panic, and he really, _really_ wants his mom.

“M..om,” he manages, then slaps a hand over his mouth.

_Shit!_

Frank doesn’t know what to think. He’s absolutely terrified, but he feels like he could cry with joy. He sounds a little croaky, but not too much like those stupid movies. It’s been months of trying to talk, months of frustration, and now there’s this bubbling feeling in Frank’s chest, and he just really needs to sit down (which is silly, because he doesn’t get tired or shaky, but it’s the principle of the matter).

Frank pulls out one of the chairs at the kitchen table and he sits there for the longest time. The shock of hearing his own voice out loud again practically sends Frank into a trance. There’s conversations running through his mind, words from the past, even singing, stupid things that didn’t mean anything at the time.

Of course, as with every nostalgic notion Frank has, his mind is suddenly filled with the last conversation he ever had. He can remember what it felt like, the nerves in his stomach, how nauseous he felt, how panicked he was that Gerard might not--

And that’s where he stops himself and shakes his head. He won’t think about that, he won’t _let_ himself think about it. Every time Frank even thinks of Gerard’s _name_ , it hurts in some unexplainable way, like he’s dying all over again. So, he figures it’s better not to think of him at all.

Frank gives himself a shakedown then gets to his feet again. He clears his throat (pointlessly), then grunts, “Din…ner.”

Frank can’t help but grin away to himself as he carefully picks up the pieces of the broken bowl and makes a start on dinner again.

-

Frank’s leaning against the kitchen counter when his mother gets home from work. She calls on him when she gets through the front door, and Frank doesn’t say anything, just thumps the counter to let her know he’s there.

Linda keeps talking away as she kicks off her shoes and hangs up her coat, before she makes her way through to the kitchen.

“…and then your aunt just came blundering in of course, taking over when everything was under control, and--”

Linda cuts herself off when she spots Frank smirking from the counter. “What are you up to?” She asks, then she looks at the dinner table. “Aw baby,” she crows. “You made dinner?”

Frank just grins and nods, before he pulls himself up onto the counter.

“You’re a little angel, you know that?” Linda smiles, and she sits down at the table. She doesn’t ask Frank to join her, because she knows how much he hates watching her eat. He may not get hungry, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t miss eating.

Frank doesn’t say anything, and as his mother eats, she keeps talking to him about her day. She tells him about the crazy customers that expect hairdressers to be miracle makers, and about his aunt’s latest drama. The whole time Frank doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even grunt -- until he sees his mom’s almost finished.

“Mo..m,” Frank says.

For the first few seconds, Linda keeps talking, one hand waving her fork around. Then she freezes. Slowly, Linda turns her head to look at Frank. He’s just sitting there, watching her with a small smile on his lips.

“Frank?” Linda squeaks.

Frank grins. “Mo…m.”

Linda’s fork clatters to the floor as she jumps to her feet and pulls Frank off the counter and into her arms. She’s crying, and Frank pats her back gently.

\---

It’s slow, and it’s months before Frank can form a full sentence, but all the frustration is worth it to see his mom smile. Every time he says her name, Frank can see a little light in her eyes, something he’s missed.

They’re in Italy almost a year by the time Frank finds himself talking away with few problems. In fact, for the most part, Frank doesn’t find any problems with their life now. He’s probably more content than most Differently Biotic kids -- he has a mother who still loves him and cares for him, and he has a nice home and unlife. Sure, he doesn’t have any friends, and his mom home schools him, but he can’t complain.

It does get a bit lonely at times, but Frank won’t admit it whenever Linda brings it up.

“I know you miss him,” Linda says one night. They’re sitting on the sofa, and Frank doesn’t drag his eyes away from the sitcom on the television. “It’s okay, we can talk about--”

“There’s nothing…to talk…about.” Frank says.

Linda sighs. “Frankie, I know something happened before…” She trails off. “If you wanna--”

“I don’t,” Frank says, and he runs a hand over his face. He doesn’t wanna talk about it. He _never_ wants to talk about it. He doesn’t want to remember the feeling in his stomach, the butterflies of excitement and nerves. He doesn’t want to remember the way Gerard-- “No.” Frank says. “I’m fine.”

Linda sighs and slouches back against the sofa cushions. “It’s okay to be sad about it,” she says gently. “I miss him too, you know.”

That kinda throws Frank. He’d never really thought about it like that. Gerard really had been a huge part of both their lives -- hell, Gerard’s whole family had been.

“You miss…Donna?” Frank asks, and Linda nods.

“She was my best friend for years, of course I do.”

Frank bites his lip gently. “I miss…Mikey,” he says quietly.

 

Linda gives him a soft smile. “No one else?”

Frank swallows pointlessly. He nods a little, then hangs his head. He hates thinking about this, because it makes him feel like he’s going to throw up, and he wishes he could.

“He misses you too,” Linda says, and she puts an arm around Frank’s shoulders, pulling him closer to her.

“He thinks…I’m dead.” Frank says, and Linda just squeezes him gently.

-

Frank’s always been pretty open with his mom. When she first told him about Gerard going to Donna about liking boys, Frank had quite happily informed his mother that he too liked boys. Or, at least _one_ boy. Linda had just laughed and shook her head, before warning Frank to behave himself when Gerard came over that night.

Frank can’t help the tiny smile that creeps onto his face every time he thinks about the shock on Gerard’s face when Frank practically _pounced_ on him, all shaking hands and nervous smiles. It was pretty much the best night of Frank’s life…and the worst.

It’s then that Frank starts to roll his neck, one hand pressing against the top of his spine. He can’t remember much, just the fight, and Gerard’s voice screaming his name. That voice still rings through Frank’s mind like a nightmare.

Frank shakes his head and tries to focus on the Lugosi movie on the TV screen. His mom’s in bed and Frank’s got another night of no sleep and trying to not think of the past ahead of him.

\---

Frank thinks if his heart was working, it would have stopped the second he heard the second voice.

He’s in the kitchen waiting for his mom to get back from grocery shopping when he hears her voice. At first Frank’s confused, and frowns, because it’s not like his mom to talk to herself (at least not outside of the house). When a second voice comes, Frank jumps to his feet. It’s also not like his mom to bring anyone near the cottage -- what’s she playing at?

Frank looks out of the kitchen window and stares at his mother. She’s walking up the pathway with a young boy, probably around Frank’s age. He’s much taller than Frank, with blond hair and a bulkier build. His cheeks are a little red from the walk, and Frank’s eyes widen as they get closer.

Frank runs through to the hall and he’s hurrying up the stairs as he hears his mom enter the house -- with the strange boy!

"Your son?" Frank hears the boy say, and he silently curses his mother and her big mouth.

"He uhm, doesn't really like company much." Linda replies, and Frank rolls his eyes as he sits down on the top step of the staircase. He sits there for a few minutes as he listens to his mom talk.

"Thanks for your help," Linda says eventually. "I really appreciate it."

"It was nice meeting you, Mrs. Iero." The boy calls, and soon enough Frank can hear the door close. He takes a few seconds before he starts to descend the stairs.

He finds his mom in the kitchen, putting her groceries away.

“Who was…that?” Frank asks, and Linda turns to look at him with an innocent smile.

“Oh, just a boy I bumped into in town. He helped with my bags.”

Frank scowls. He hates that he can’t help his mom with her shopping.

“His name’s Bob,” Linda says casually, packing some tins away. “He’s from Chicago.”

Frank just grunts and starts to run the faucet to wash the vegetables.

“He’s cute…” Linda says, and Frank just stares at her.

“You are _not_ trying to set me…up.” He says pointedly, then returns to the vegetables.

Linda just sighs.

-

It’s a few days later that Frank sees the strange ’Bob’ again. Well, hears. He’s at the salon with his mom. Normally, Frank doesn’t leave the cottage if he can help it, but some strange boy walking his mom home. Frank might be undead, but he’s perfectly capable of looking after his own mom, thank you very much.

Frank’s sitting in the back room of the salon when he hears Bob’s voice again. He can’t help but scowl as he hears his mom fawn over him, talking to who he thinks might be Bob’s mother before she sets about working on Bob’s hair.

Frank misses his mom doing his hair -- it doesn’t grow anymore, so there’s really no point. If he gets it cut too short, it isn’t going to grow back in, so he keeps it at the length it always has been.

He’s sitting in the back, more bored than usual. Frank huffs and gets to his feet. He potters around the room, opening cupboard doors and drawers, trying to find something to entertain himself. He opens a cupboard and reels back as his eyes land on what he thinks may be the largest spider he’s ever come across in his life (and unlife!). As Frank stumbles backwards, he kicks over a large box of god only knows what, and it crashes to the ground with enough noise to wake the dead (if Frank wasn’t so terrified of the spider in front of him, he’d laugh at his own joke).

Soon enough Linda’s there, eyes wide and panicked, running her hands through his hair, checking he’s okay.

“M’fine,” he mumbles, and tries to bat her hands away.

“I’ll be done in a second,” she says.

Frank nods, then he frowns because he could swear he just heard a noise behind him. When he turns his head, however, there’s no one there.

“I’ll just finish up and then we can head home, okay?” Linda says, and she presses a kiss to Frank’s cheek before returning to the front of the salon.

\---

It’s about a week later when Frank’s mom comes home with tears in her eyes.

Frank pounces off the sofa in an instant and has his mom in his arms. “What’s wrong?” He asks. “What--”

“It’s silly,” Linda says, and she pulls away, wiping at her eyes. Her mascara has run a little, and Frank can tell she’s been crying on her walk home.

“What is it?” Frank asks, and he squeezes his mom’s shoulder.

Linda sighs and wipes her eyes again. “That boy, Bob?”

Frank frowns and nods.

“He was in an accident. It’s been in the papers.”

Frank bites his lip. “That sucks.”

Linda nods. “So young,” she says. “What a waste of--” she cuts herself off and looks at Frank. “Baby, I’m sorry, I didn’t--”

“No,” Frank shakes his head. “I know, it’s cool…It sucks…he’s just a kid.”

Linda nods, then shakes her head, a small but fake smile on her lips. “Okay, I should make dinner.”

-

Two weeks later Frank’s sitting in the living room waiting on his mom. He keeps looking at the wall clock, and his mom is almost two hours late. Normally she calls if she’s staying late, and Frank knows he’s acting like an overbearing parent, but he worries, and he can’t help it.

Frank’s called her twice but she hasn’t answered, and Frank’s starting to get pissed off when he hears a car pull up outside. He gets to his feet as he hears footsteps, and before he’s even reached the kitchen he says, “Mom! Where have you been?!”

Then he freezes on the spot.

Bob’s there. The strange American boy that Linda said was dead. And he is, from what Frank can see -- his skin’s just as grey as Frank’s, and he looks like he’s been rolling around in a dirt grave or something.

"Frankie, this is Bob." Linda smiles.

Frank nods. "Grocery guy."

"Bob, this is my son Frank...he's dead too."

Bob stares at Frank with wide eyes.

Frank doesn’t quite know what to do right now. Other than when he was alive, he’s never met any fellow undead kids.

"You can stay with us, can't he, Frank?" Linda says, and Frank drags himself from his thoughts. He nods, still staring at Bob. "Can...can you talk yet?" he asks.

Bob shakes his head and lowers his eyes. He looks almost _ashamed_ of himself, and something about that doesn’t sit right with Frank.

"It's ok," Frank says, stepping forward. "It took me a while to get the hang of it again." He puts a hand on Bob’s shoulder, and whoa, it feels weird, touching someone that isn’t a family member.

"I probably have some clean sweats that would fit you," Frank smiles gently, motioning for Bob to follow him.

Frank sees Bob turn back to Linda before he follows him through the living room to the stairs. Frank knows his mom’s probably crying, but he’ll give her some time for now.

-

"Where are your parents?" Frank asks as he pulls his closet open and starts throwing things to the floor. He turns to see Bob's answer, which is a strange motion with his hands.

"They're butterflies?"

Bob shakes his head.

"Oh! They flew home?"

Bob nods.

"What, and just left you here? On your own?" Frank can’t help the rage in his voice. He knows some parents abandon their DB kids, but it never ceases to anger him.

Bob just nods and gives a shrug.

"So you've been like, on your own, for how long now?"

Bob shrugs again and holds up two fingers.

"Two days?" 

Bob shakes his head.

"Two weeks?!"

Bob nods.

Frank clenches his jaw, and he knows the anger is showing on his face. He continues to pull his closet apart before handing a large Misfits t-shirt and black sweatpants to Bob.

“The shower’s in there,” Frank says in an even voice as he points down the hallway. Bob nods and he gives what Frank assumes is a grateful smile. Frank just nods then leaves Bob alone.

-

"They just left him!" Frank yells at his mom.

"I know, Frank, I'm just as mad as you are." Linda takes a sip of her coffee.

"But...I don't get it! How could they…do that? He's from Chicago…and they left him in Italy?!"

Linda nods.

"We're keeping him, right?"

Linda almost choked. "What?" Frank’s not sure if it’s out of shock or not. Sure, Frank hadn’t been happy about his mom hanging out with some teenage kid, doing things Frank couldn’t, but there was no way he was going to let Bob be on his own again. Frank shivers to think what happens to those abandoned kids.

"You can't be seriously thinking of handing him over to the authorities, mom--"

Frank is cut off by a grunt behind him. He turns to see Bob standing in the doorway of the living room, his hair wet and Frank’s sweatpants barely reaching his ankles. He’s shaking his head at Linda, a sad look on his face.

Linda pulls herself to her feet and walks over to him. “Would you like to stay with Frank and I, Bob?”

Bob looks over at Frank. Frank’s just watching his mom and Bob closely. He feels a little uncomfortable, because he doesn’t know if he feels cool with suddenly sharing his mom, but he knows there’s no way he’ll let this kid be on his own. Frank shifts from foot to foot, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Mom knows what she’s doing, Bob,” Frank says. “She helped me talk and learn everything all over again, by herself.”

Bob nods, before he turns to Linda. He opens his mouth and tries to speak, but again it’s only throat noises that escape.

“Will I take that as a yes?” Linda smiles.

Bob nods, and he lets Linda pull him into a hug.

After Linda releases him, Bob looks up as Frank walks over to him carefully. He puts a hand on Bob’s shoulder and gives a small smile. “I always wanted a brother,” he says. 

\---

It’s weird, at first, living with Bob. Every time Frank walks into the kitchen to find Bob helping with the dishes or something he gets a little shock, completely confused as to why there’s another teenage dead kid in his house.

It’s nice though, having Bob around. The days aren’t as long when Linda’s at work, because Frank’s got someone else to focus on. He spends his days trying to get Bob moving around; to be fair, the kid didn’t manage on his own for two weeks, so it’s not like Frank has to help him out with much. He does his best to try and teach Bob to talk, but really, Frank’s only just got the hang of it himself.

Bob shares a room with Frank now, and it makes the nights much more interesting. Whilst Bob can’t talk, he is _superb_ at crazy ass hand signals, and Frank has to try and not laugh his head off when they try to have quiet conversations.

Linda seems happier too, having Bob around. Frank thinks it’s not so much because there’s someone else in the house, but more that there’s someone else for _Frank_ there. Frank doesn’t bring it up, but he notices the spring in his mom’s step, and how there seems to be less worry in her eyes when he meets them.

-

Bob’s been living with Frank and his mom for a few months when they’re clearing out some of the things Linda had packed into the little garage.

“You know,” Frank calls to his mom as she carries out a small box. “Any normal mother would bring lemonade or something.”

Linda throws a sarcastic smile back at her boys before she leaves them to it.

Bob grunts and Frank looks up. He gives Bob a small smile, before they start to pull out some of the piled up boxes. 

It’s weird, looking through all the things Frank hasn’t seen since they packed up almost two years ago. He finds some old comics, a few school books, and his old skateboard.

Frank smiles softly as he sets them down next to him. Just as Frank’s about to reach in for what looks like a moth-bitten teddy bear, Bob lets out a grunt and Frank turns to look at him.

Bob’s holding a photo frame in his hands, and he’s frowning down at it.

“S’that?” Frank asks, and he twists around on his knees to crawl over to look at the frame. When he reaches Bob, he freezes as his eyes land on the two boys in the photo.

Bob lets out another grunt, and Frank swallows. “It’s from back home,” he says quietly. Frank folds his legs beneath him and takes the photo from Bob’s hands.

Bob’s watching him closely, and Frank runs his fingers over the dusty frame. For almost two years, the other boy’s face has just been a memory, fading more and more each day. But now…now it’s right in front of him.

Bob makes a throaty sound and Frank looks up. Bob’s staring at him with concerned eyes, and Frank almost laughs.

“His name’s Gerard,” Frank says, and he looks down at the photo again. Gerard’s face is smiling up at him, all tiny teeth and shining eyes. 

Bob makes a few throaty grunts and Frank looks up, almost smirking. “Yeah…” He says slowly. “He was kinda my…I dunno.” Frank shrugs. “We were best friends…” He doesn’t know what they were when it all ended.

Bob hums and takes the photo back. He looks at it for a few seconds, before he sets it down carefully and starts to root through the box again.

-

Frank’s sprawled on the sofa when he hears his mom’s voice. She’s on the phone, and she’s talking lowly, which is odd -- normally Frank’s mom talks way too loud and Frank has to tell her to keep it down.

Frank rolls off the sofa and makes his way into the kitchen. As soon as Linda sees him, she stops talking.

“You okay, sweetie?” She asks calmly, but she has a mischievous look in her eyes.

Frank nods. “You okay?”

Linda nods and smiles. “Just fine, baby.”

Frank narrows his eyes and purses his lips at her, but he goes back into the living room and sits back down to his movie.

-

Bob’s flailing his arms around, recounting some story about his old marching band to Frank when Linda pokes her head into their bedroom. Frank’s laughing at Bob and Linda smiles gently at them.

“’Sup mom?” Frank asks as he calms down. Bob smiles and Linda walks into the room.

“I need to talk to you boys,” She says gently.

Frank frowns, because he knows it’s never a good sign when parents want to talk to you.

“So, I’ve been thinking,” Linda says, and she sits down on Bob’s bed, facing Frank. “You’re both doing so well. Frank, your speech is perfect, and Bob’s coming along brilliantly.”

Frank watches his mother closely.

“How would you feel about going back home?”

Bob doesn’t say anything, just looks at Frank.

“Home?” Frank says quietly.

“To Jersey.” Linda nods. “I think it’s time, baby.”

Frank purses his lips and just stares at his mother. “Home.” He says.

Linda nods. “I’ve spoken to Donna, and--”

“You what?!” Frank cries.

“Frankie, I--”

“You spoke to Donna, and you didn’t tell me?!”

“Gerard doesn’t know anything,” Linda says quietly, and Frank suddenly feels sick. “Donna won’t say anything.”

Frank hangs his head, rubbing his face. He can’t believe his mom spoke to Donna without talking to him about it first.

“I’ll leave you boys to talk about it,” Linda says, and she touches Frank’s shoulder as she leaves the room.

Frank and Bob sit in silence for the longest time, before Frank throws himself down on his bed and throws a hand over his face.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Frank hisses. His mind is a complete minefield right now. He feels like he might throw up from how fast the images and memories are spinning in his brain. There’s laughter, and birthday parties, singing, crying, kissing--

Frank’s eyes shoot open and he realises it’s dark in the room. He leans up on his elbows. He hadn’t realised he’d been lying there for so long, lost in his own thoughts.

Frank moves to sit up, when his elbow knocks a hard object on the bed next to him. He squints down in the dark, and he sees it’s something rectangle.

It’s a photo frame. The same one Bob had found in the garage. 

Frank picks it up and sits up, cradling it in his hands. 

He runs his fingers over the two smiling boys -- one he sees in the mirror every day, and the other that’s saved away in his memory.

Frank sucks on his bottom lip, and he lets out a sigh.

“I guess I’m coming home, Gee.”


End file.
